


Trauma; The Trouble With

by ryoku



Series: Switch; To Change Circumstances [5]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Age Swap AU, Gen, Jason is Bruce's First Child, Semi-Dysfunctional Family, anger issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-11
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2019-03-30 01:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13939947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryoku/pseuds/ryoku
Summary: Oddly, the presence of Tim Drake in the Wayne household throws Bruce's expectations, and understandings into disarray. Things go amiss.





	Trauma; The Trouble With

**Author's Note:**

> This was suppose to be a nice fluffy piece. It did not work that way. I am not confident writing Bruce, but I try my best. This is the fourth part of the series, but can be read on it's own as long as you mind the tags. As always, thanks go to PoisnousPixie, for first of all reassuring me that this was not madness, and also for that lovely title!

“Alfred,” Bruce greeted as the call connected. He entered his private elevator at Wayne Enterprises, and typed in the code for Bruce Wayne's garage. There was, of course, a garage below that, but it wasn't the one he needed at the moment. “I've got tickets for a hockey game tonight. I'm on my way, tell Dick to get ready.” 

“Two tickets, Sir?” Alfred asked. 

Bruce puzzled over that for two seconds, before answering. “I didn't think you'd be interested.” Alfred hadn't expressed any joy for organized sports other than the occasional game of rugby, but the two of them thrived on subtleties, on things that were more assumed then said. It was possible he had miscalculated. 

“Indeed, Master Bruce. As it were, Master Dick has a guest. A young Mr. Timothy Drake.” 

It probably took Bruce longer then necessary to process that statement. “Dick made a friend,” Bruce said, mostly to himself. Alfred could probably tell how surprised he was by the statement. Jason hadn't made friends easily, but perhaps that was to be expected. Jason had been so focused on his studies and home life, that it hadn't been a big issue to him. He'd also been actively shunned by most of his peers, and was openly distrustful of people in general. It had been concerning at the time, but then he'd become Robin, and hadn't wanted to make new civilian friends. 

In comparison, Dick seemed to gravitate to people. With his easy smiles and disarming nature most people tended to like him, as long as he was having one of his better days. The same isolation and all encompassing anguish that had marked the before and after of Bruce's childhood didn't seem to affect Dick as completely, and instead produced almost random torrents of emotion and instability. Outside of those episodes, he was dealing with things rather well. Or he was good a damn good actor. 

“That's good,” Bruce said, after a long silence. “I remember Tim Drake.” He imagined the well dressed, dark haired little boy, standing off on his own at one of the many charity galas that were run in Gotham. The Drakes didn't attend often, but when they did, Tim often accompanied them. It seemed like an excuse for them to leave early, if Bruce was being honest. From what Bruce remembered, Tim was a good kid. “I'll get another ticket.” 

“I will inquire if young Mr. Timothy will be able to accompany you.”

“Right,” Bruce hesitated. “This is good.” He didn't say it like a question, but Alfred knew him well enough that he would put the pieces together. 

Bruce didn't usually need Alfred's opinion on these things, but he felt the sudden urge to be reassured. Bruce had tried to get Jason friends, but it had usually failed. He'd been so mature and self sufficient from an early age, that it had isolated him from his peers, and his newly acquired social status had been a point of contention with his classmates. Jason's skeptical nature also hadn't helped. Only once he'd joined the Teen Titans, had Jason really gained other people of his own age to rely on and have fun with. As much as Bruce hated having him so far away, this was better for him in the long run. Bruce thought about how important Tommy, and then Harvey had been to him once, but the crusade had gotten in the way of those.

This was good, he knew that, but some part of him still hesitated. Getting more people involved in his family life was always dangerous, but Dick would be starting school soon, and Bruce had a feeling that he'd be bringing more people home then shy little Tim Drake. It was a thought that had been plaguing Bruce of late. Maybe he was set in his ways (and had a lot to hide) but he didn't like random people being in his house unsupervised, let alone children, or god forbid teenagers. Neither Alfred or Dick had even informed him that Tim was at the house. Was this going to be standard procedure from now on? If so, he didn't like it, but he also understood that the manor wasn't just his home. It was Jason's, and Dick's as well, and that came with a whole host of other issues. Sure, he knew when someone tried to enter unlawfully, but small children wandering in and out through the front door didn't exactly light up his security systems. 

Sometimes he needed Alfred to ground him, to reassure him that he was being irrational. Alfred was better at it then most.

“Yes, Master Bruce.” Alfred answered, the voice of unending patience. “I dare say it's a blessing.” 

“Right, of course.” 

“I'll have a light supper prepared when you arrive.” Alfred replied, the former subject thankfully dropped. “I would hate to send you on an empty stomach, or deprive you of the joys of rinkside cuisine.” 

“Does this mean you aren't going to send us with cucumber sandwiches?” Bruce asked, thinking about the ruckus Dick had made about the snack just a couple days before. It had been a rather embarrassing and endearing episode.

“Indeed.” Alfred answered, decidedly unamused. 

Stifling a laugh, Bruce ended the call, and exited the elevator.

This was good. Jason was sure Dick would move on by himself, that he would pick up the pieces of his life, and be able to form connections again in a way that Bruce had been unable to. It was reassuring to know he'd been right, at least a little. Better still, Dick had done it all on his own. No scheduling playdates for him. Jason had never quite forgiven him for making him spend time with 'rich stuck up, self entitled brats that had never worked for anything in their lives.' In some way, it was a relief that he wouldn't need to attempt the same with Dick. 

Leave it to Dick to find what he needed on his own. It was a trait Bruce could commend. 

\- 

As soon as Bruce came through the manors doors, Dick flung himself into Bruce's arms. It was usually Alfred that greeted him at the door, but his butler was nowhere in sight. 

Sometimes, when Dick was in a good mood, he'd come over and hug Bruce when he came in. Dick's arms would wrap around his waist and Bruce would awkwardly pat his back until Dick was done. It was a nice gesture, but one he still wasn't entirely used to. It wasn't the sort of heartfelt hugs that he sometimes got from Jason in moments of weakness or pain, and it seemed an odd way to greet someone.

This wasn't that at all. Dick had outright flung himself at Bruce, arms and legs wrapped around him like a monkey. Dick wasn't exactly a lightweight 11 year old either. It wasn't anything that Bruce couldn't handle, he just hadn't been expecting it. He reciprocated the hold, wrapping his arms around Dick to keep him steady. He felt like a tree, with Dick being an over eager koala. Jason wouldn't have been caught dead in a hold like this, even at 11, unless he'd been almost dying. 

Bruce had fought down the urge to discourage it before. Dick wasn't a 6 year old, and it didn't seem appropriate for him to be this hung up on contact, especially on a regular basis. Bruce wasn't sure what to make of it, until Dick looked at him with the happiest, most genuine smile Bruce had ever seen on him. In an instant, Bruce decided it didn't matter, so what if he was 11 and not 6. 

“You remembered!” Dick squealed, simply glowing. 

He had. Once a week, he needed to set time aside so that they could do something together. Dick didn't know it, but Bruce had started planning these events several weeks out. It would be good for both of them, and Bruce still felt like he needed to learn more about the child now under his care. 

“I take it you want to go?” Bruce chided, already knowing the answer.

“Of course!” Dick said, and without skipping a beat, asked, “can Tim come?” 

Bruce kept his features blank. He wasn't actually looking forward to being the chaperon. He'd made the plans so that he and Dick could bond, but the prospect of Dick having a friend, and wanting to bring that friend with them was too enticing to pass up. Dick needed that, and Bruce wasn't about to deny it to him. This was progress. 

“Barring any issues with his parents, I don't see why not.” Bruce didn't anticipate any problems, but he didn't know the Drakes that well either. Most of the time they were absentees at the gala circuit, though he regularly received checks in the mail for whatever charity he was hosting. Said checks always came with a nice little 'thank you for the invitation' card from their secretary, that was always the same. If nothing else, they'd passed the background check to get the plot of land next to his, and had been quiet, unassuming neighbors for years, which made them somewhat trustworthy. Not that their houses were all that close to begin with. Now that Tim was Dick's new friend, he'd have to do more research on them.

“It's okay, Mr. Wayne,” came a small voice from farther into the foyer. 

Tim was unassuming, standing awkwardly in the entryway, and fiddling with his fingers. Bruce wondered what had made Tim nervous, or if he was just naturally that way. It was hard to turn off Batman's way of analyzing people, but Bruce knew that if he'd been in Tim's shoes at that age, seeing one of his friends hug their mother or father like Dick was, would have been embarrassing. Dick in comparison, didn't seem to care at all.

Whatever had caused the unease in Tim, it dissipated quickly, and he was once again the calm, collected child that Bruce remembered. “My parents won't mind.” Tim Drake stepped closer, and raised his hand to shake, before awkwardly putting it back at his side. Both of Bruce's arms were busy holding Dick. “I'm Tim Drake. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Wayne.”

“We've met before,” Bruce said. He'd met and spoke with this same child. He'd grown since then, but not by much. Bruce remembered thinking how quiet he'd been, and how he hadn't mixed well with the other children at the gala, so Bruce had gone to talk to him on his own. He'd been pleasantly surprised just how astute Tim had been.

Tim smiled, a soft, forced, social thing. “I didn't think you'd remember,” he said simply. 

Dick turned a pleading look at Bruce. “Tim's good, you'll like him. Can he come?”

“Yes,” Bruce answered. At that, Dick gave a hooping shout of excitement, before dislodging himself from Bruce's side. He pranced over to Tim, and slung a casual arm over his shoulder. Bruce noticed that Tim leaned into the contact, and didn't seem to mind at all. Both of them were smiling. Dick's was blindingly happy, as he nudged Tim in excitement. Tim's smile was more reserved, but his cheeks colored and he seemed genuinely happy. Any sense of doubt in Bruce's head was fleeting. 

“If I know Alfred, dinner will be ready soon. Go wash up,” Bruce instructed. 

Dick screwed up his face for just a second, and stage whispered in Bruce's direction. “Are there going to be cucumber sandwiches?” 

“Careful, these walls have ears,” Bruce warned, fighting down a smile.

“I like them,” Tim said, and he seemed genuine.

Dick dramatically rolled his eyes, before poking Tim's cheek. “You don't have taste buds.”

“Yes I do,” Tim asserted. “You're just prissy.” The two continued to argue as Dick herded Tim into the bathroom. 

Bruce watched them, before he turned and made his way into the kitchen. 

Alfred was putting the finishing touches on dinner, tossing together a salad that Bruce noticed had almost double the normal amount of cucumbers. 

“Welcome home, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, not looking up from chopping more cucumbers for the salad. 

“You do know he doesn't like cucumbers,” Bruce said, eyeing the salad suspiciously. 

Alfred stopped chopping, and looked up at him. He had The Look on his face, and Bruce wasn't even sure what he'd done to deserve that. Bruce noticed that he hadn't put down the knife either. “On the contrary, Master Bruce. Master Dick loves cucumbers. He simply doesn't believe them belong between two slices of bread.” 

Bruce blinked once in lieu of answering. Alfred went back to chopping cucumbers. If it had been anyone else, Bruce would have called foul, but this was Alfred. 

He decided a tactical change of topic was in order. “How long has Tim been here?” 

“All day. Master Dick was up at the crack of dawn, hopped the fence, and brought him back like some puppy he'd found in the woods.” So Tim had been here when Bruce had left for work in the morning? How had he missed that? “They then proceeded to take a mid morning nap, watch cartoons, talk about superheros, and then were off to the gym, where Master Dick has been teaching Mr. Timothy the intricacies of falling for several hours.” 

Bruce wasn't exactly sure if Alfred was joking, or being sarcastic, but his gut instinct was that Alfred was being entirely serious. He didn't seem to be in much of a joking mood. 

“They are now clean and prepped for an evening of fun and excitement. I've heard nothing from either of Mr. Timothy's parents, though after some hassle I was able to contact a Ms. Bates, who is in charge of his care while the Drakes are abroad. She didn't seem to have realized he had left the house.” 

Bruce wasn't as surprised as he should've been. Upon their first meeting, Tim had struck him as resourceful and self sufficient in a way that most kids weren't. It'd reminded him of Jason, which had struck a chord. It made sense that he'd been left to his own devices, even if that didn't make it right. 

“Neglect is common on all levels of society.” The Batman knew that well, even though he didn't usually deal with upper class children unless they were kidnapped. 

“Have you called Master Jason?” Alfred asked. The implication was obvious, and stunned Bruce so fully that he didn't even bristle at the comment. Alfred really was in a mood, and didn't seem to care how completely he'd destabilized Bruce. “I encourage you to look at the Drakes as a lesson, as I have, in the hopes that you will not fall into the same pitfalls. Just because a child is responsible, doesn't mean he doesn't need support, and alternatively, a child who makes demands, makes them for a reason. Once a week should be a bare minimum, Master Bruce, not a consolation. ” 

Shock gave way to outrage, and Bruce glowered. Alfred had nothing else to add to the conversation. The two of them fell into a tense silence as Alfred finished making the salad. 

“Come along, Master Bruce,” Alfred beckoned, loading up the dishes onto a rolling trolley. “I won't have you brooding in the kitchen while there's food to be eaten.” Then Alfred was off, pushing the little trolley into the dining room. 

Just to be difficult, Bruce stayed in the kitchen for a bit longer, thinking over what Alfred said. The worst part, was that he knew Alfred was right. He'd taken in Jason, because he needed a home and stability if he had any hope of staying out of the criminal justice system. He'd taken in Dick because of his potential. How they'd come into his life, and the reasons behind it had been completely different, and he was starting to realize the faults in his approach. He knew that when Dick became Robin – and he would, Bruce was certain of it – that they'd spend hours together patrolling, and he wouldn't need to make extra time to spend with him. 

Pragmatically, it made sense, and he could compartmentalize Dick's outbursts as simply acting out because of his change in situation, and the loss of his parents. Certainly Bruce had done the same at his age, before realizing what he needed to do with his life. Giving Dick that same drive had been rational, smart, and necessary. 

Given the proper training, Bruce had every expectation that Dick would be an ideal soldier. With his abilities, he'd be a natural. It was bridging this gap between commander, and parent, that was causing him so much trouble, Dick didn't need the same sort of reassurances that Jason had, or at least he shouldn't have needed them. Dick didn't come from a broken home like Jason had, their circumstances were different. Jason had grown into the role, needed all the reassurances he could get, and had worked for it desperately, but he'd been Bruce's son first. Working with him was fulfilling, but hard, because Bruce always wanted to prioritize Jason's safety first. Batman wasn't allowed to have that bias, Gotham would always come first. He still remembered that feeling of being crushed under the weight of things he couldn't say, as Jason had walked out the of the manor door with his bags that first time he'd moved out. Remembered thinking 'he's too young', and silencing that thought the moment it had come to him. Now that he wasn't spending every night on patrol with Jason, it made sense that their communication had drastically decreased. 

In comparison, Dick was made to be Robin, his tragedies almost conveniently mirroring Bruce's own. Did he need, or even want, a new parent? He was sure that on some level, Dick was compensating, that the acting out, and the overly physical affection were two sides of the same coin, but did that mean Dick needed a parent, or a cause? Both? Bruce had thought he knew the answer, but he wasn't sure anymore.

His good mood ruined, Bruce made his way into the dining room. 

-

That night, when Batman drove back into the cave, Bruce still hadn't come to a solid conclusion. It was easier to drown himself in work than actually think about it, because when he actually tried, he just ended up running around in circles, ruminating and not solving anything. 

His ribs, which had been on the business end of a crowbar that evening, didn't exactly agree with his avoidance strategy. He'd been sloppy, letting the issue bleed into his work, and as Batman, simple mistakes caused injuries, or expensive collateral damage. He needed to resolve the issue, but didn't know how. It was a vicious cycle of avoiding, then being forced to face the issue again, only to avoid once more. Calling Jason would solve one issue, but not the other.

With a tired sigh, Alfred had patched Bruce up, putting a cream on the bruises, and stitching up the areas where the crow bar had dug into his flesh. Despite his silence, he seemed unapologetic for putting Bruce in this rut. Once he'd finished stitching Bruce up, Alfred looked at him levelly, and repeated the question he'd asked the day before. 

“Have you called Master Jason?” Bruce didn't even dignify the question with an answer, just stalked off to finish working on his reports, and start forensic testing on a different case. 

When he woke up the next day, and went down to breakfast, both Tim and Dick were in the kitchen, their chatter animated and light. Bruce reminded himself, that he was going to have to get used to this, to having Tim around at apparently all hours. Thank god he was wearing his robe, and most of his injuries were covered. He wanted to crawl back into bed. A cowardly voice in his head said 'You're Bruce Wayne, you can do what you want', but he ignored it. Running away from children wasn't something Bruce Wayne, Gotham's number one buffoon was known for.

When Dick looked up at him, the smile on his face vanished in an instant. His eyes went almost comically wide and he bounded off the stool. 

“Does it hurt?” Dick asked, as he walked over to stand in front of Bruce. He pointed at his own cheek, and Bruce took the cue to be mean the rather colorful bruise that was probably on his. 

“No,” Bruce answered truthfully. His ribs, those hurt, but the bruise on his face was hardly noticeable unless he walked in front of a mirror. He'd forgotten about it until Dick had pointed it out.

Dick didn't say anything after that, just kept looking at him as if he was going to disappear. He shuffled on his feet, and fidgeted somewhat hesitantly as Alfred stepped up beside them. “Your late morning coffee, Master Bruce.” He handed Bruce a warm mug of coffee, which eased some of the strangeness between them. 

He noted that Tim excused himself from the room, but Bruce didn't hear his soft foot falls once he'd scampered out of the kitchen. He could feel eyes on his back, and knew that the kid was spying on them from just outside the kitchen, but the child in front of him drew Bruce's attention away. 

Once Tim was out of the room, Dick looked back at Bruce, and whatever hesitation that had been there before, was long gone. “You need to be more careful!”

“I was,” Bruce grit out. On a normal day, he would've been almost happy to hear Dick was concerned about him, but he was hardly in a mood to deal with this sort of nonsense. 

“I felt it prudent to inform Master Dick of your altercation last night with the mugger,” Alfred supplied from the counter, giving Bruce a knowing look laced with warning. Bruce didn't pay it much mind. 

“What were you thinking?” Dick said, looking borderline angry. “What if he'd had a gun? It's dangerous to be out in Gotham at night.”

This situation was almost laughable. Dick had no idea he was talking to the Batman himself, that Bruce faced down Gotham's underbelly every night, and here he was blowing a gasket over some fabricated robbery. Not to mention, that Dick had been caught roaming Gotham's streets at night more than once. Alfred might have thought it was funny to watch, but Bruce didn't. 

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “I remember telling you the same thing a month ago,” Bruce said, his tone sharp and biting. 

To his surprise, Dick almost looked ashamed, but that quickly morphed back to anger. “Then take your own advice, doofus! Don't go out with your fancy suits, shiny watches and expensive cufflinks! What were you even doing, going to one of those stupid galas again?” 

Bruce could feel his anger growing. Dick probably hadn't meant it, but he was implying that the scenario that Alfred had cooked up to excuse his injuries, was Bruce's fault. If it was any other setup, Bruce probably wouldn't have cared, but if being robbed at night in Gotham was Bruce's fault, it was just as equally his parents fault, and Bruce was not going to stand for that. Not from anyone. 

“Master Dick,” Alfred said, his voice harsh. As if able to tell that there was about to be a storm in his kitchen, Alfred put himself between them, and ushered Dick out of what was probably the blast radius. “I'll not have you blaming the victim in this house. While it is possible Master Bruce could have prevented what happened last night,” Alfred gave Bruce a level look at that, “the fact of the matter is that it was not his fault. I understand you are upset, but this is not an acceptable way to deal with it.” 

Dick looked up at Alfred as if he'd been utterly betrayed, then his face distorted to rage in an instant, like a switch had been flipped. Even from where Bruce stood, he could see the fire in Dick's eyes was searing, and it promised pain for anyone in its way.

“I hate you!” Dick screamed at Alfred, and pushed him away. Seeming more surprised than anything, Alfred stumbled a step backwards, but Dick was already past him, stalking over to Bruce. He glowered up at Bruce. “And I hate you!” Then for added effect he pushed over one of the stools, and knocked the crystal fruit bowl off of the kitchen counter. It shattered into a million pieces on the floor, stray apples and oranges rolled haphazardly along the floor as Dick glared all mighty hell up at him. 

“Richard!” Bruce roared, but Dick was already stomping out of the room as fast as his legs would take him. Bruce was on his heels, but Alfred's grip on his arm stopped him. 

“Let him go,” Alfred said. “He'll work it off on his own. There's no use talking to him like this.” It made Bruce angry to think that Alfred knew, had probably dealt with Dick's outbursts enough to know the proper way to handle them. This had to stop. “I'll see that young Timothy gets home. Don't do anything, foolish.” 

Then Alfred was gone. From the kitchen, Bruce could hear an almost desperate babble rushing out of Tim Drake's mouth, but none of the words stuck. He'd seen the whole damn thing, and the part of Bruce that cared about his privacy, bristled at the implication. This was why he didn't need random kids squatting in his house. 

Bruce wanted to race after Dick, to chastise him and nip this problem in the bud. His ribs hurt, his temper was frayed already, and he hadn't even been able to drink his damn coffee in peace. There was shattered crystal all over the floor, and he wasn't wearing anything but slippers. Common sense said to avoid an injury when he could, so he turned, and walked out of the kitchen. He was livid, could feel the anger in him taking over, flooding him and drowning all common sense. Before it was all gone, he made his way down to the cave, taking Alfred's advice to just let Dick work it off on his own. Why was it, that Alfred kept chastising him for being neglectful, but still told him to back off at the same time? It was enough to enrage him if he thought about it. At least in the cave, he could punish the punching bags. 

-

It had been approximately 174 minutes when Alfred came down to the cave. He came with a cup of coffee and a few snacks on a tray, which he foisted on Bruce the moment he stopped trying to murder the punching bag. Bruce really wanted to go outside, and kick trees, but Dick might've seen him, and that would've prompted more questions then he was willing to deal with. His ribs also would've protested louder than they already were. They didn't much care for the punching, but they would've hated the kicking. 

Without saying a word, Bruce grabbed one of the sandwiches, and unceremoniously started eating. Once he'd finished with the first one, he took a swig of the coffee, and glared back at the punching bag, considering going another round. 

“Might I suggest you not?” Alfred said, careful to keep his tone even. Bruce glared at him anyway. “It would aggravate your ribs further, and I believe you have quite clearly made your point.” 

Instead of saying anything, Bruce took another sandwich in hand, and started eating it. 

“The boy wishes to apologize, if you would only come back upstairs,” Alfred said tentatively, looking at Bruce like he wasn't sure the apology would make any difference. 

“No,” Bruce answered. He was done taking half assed advice. It was time to trust his own instincts. “Let him stew. He knows what he did was wrong. Apologizing doesn't fix or change anything. He needs to learn that mistakes aren't acceptable.” 

“So be it,” Alfred said, his tone tired and resigned, before he turned and headed towards the staircase without another word. 

Bruce finished another sandwich, and the cup of coffee, before moving to the computers. There were cases to work on. 

-

Jason called on the cave's secureline an hour before Batman was scheduled to go on patrol. It was the most guaranteed window to call the cave, and actually talk to him. Bruce had left his personal cell phone upstairs in his bedroom, and he was happy to be rid of it, so he had no idea if Jason had tried to call him there first. He knew he shouldn't have taken the call the second he saw it go through, but he did. 

“Do you know that your circus brat has either called, texted, or left me a message 20 times in the last hour?” Jason demanded. What a great start to the conversation. Bruce seethed. He was simultaneously thankful and resentful that he didn't have a visual feed on Jason. If he did, he would have had something to glare at, but the look that was probably on Jason's face would have made him second guess himself. He was better off without it. 

“Unless you have something important to say, stop wasting my time. This isn't a personal line.” There were things he could be doing, useful, good things. Why did everyone in his family feel the need to verbally lash him every chance they got? 

There was a beat of silence, and over the line, Bruce could hear Jason take in a deep breath, and let it out.“So that's how we're going to do this then,” Jason sounded resigned, but firm. “Okay Bruce, fine. You signed on the dotted line to adopt Dick, it's your job to be his parent, not Alfred's.” 

“I didn't,” Bruce said, bristling at the implication that Alfred was doing his job for him. Muddying the waters was all Alfred was doing. As always when he argued with Jason, his points were solid, and meant to hurt, but Bruce could anticipate them. Arguments with Jason were brutal.

“Didn't what?” Jason asked, biting out the question.

“I didn't adopt Dick,” Bruce explained. “He's a ward, and I'm not going to adopt him. He's not like you, his temper is a constant problem, and I can't have a Robin that flies into rages. Innocent people will get hurt because of his incompetence. You were right, he should've gone somewhere else.” Bruce thought of how he'd been after his parents had died, angry and violent. He'd had years to stew and decide on his direction. It had been foolish to expect Dick could just pick himself up and not have similar issues. 

There was a long silence after that, before Jason finally spoke. “You son of a bitch.” 

“Jason Todd-” 

“No, you don't get to 'Todd' me, when you're being such a jackass, so you listen to me. Dick isn't Robin, he might never be Robin, but that doesn't matter. Decent human beings don't toss out kids, you got that? You made a commitment to him, and come hell or high water that should damn well mean something. He's going to make mistakes, so stop throwing your tantrum, and be the adult. Go let that kid apologize, and get your head out of your ass!” 

“Or what?” Bruce grit out. 

“Or nothing. You're Batman, and Batman is better than this.” Jason ended the call, not even giving Bruce the chance to respond. 

Batman went out on patrol early. 

-

When Bruce rolled back into the cave, it had been over 17 hours since Dick's temper tantrum, and approximately 9 hours since he'd talked with Jason. In that time, he'd foiled one of Harley's plots to break out the Joker, beaten and apprehended a fair amount of Two-Face's gang who'd been participating in an arms deal, apprehended Killer Croc, who was almost happy to be found so that he could be in a heated cell in Blackgate, and had quelled 26 instances of petty crime. 

It had been a good night, and more then anything, that tempered his mood. He should have stayed up to finish his paperwork, but forwent that in favor of getting changed and showering. The paperwork could wait. He headed up stairs to the manor, relieved that at this hour, it would be deserted. 

Bruce found himself heading to Dick's room on instinct more than anything else. It was standard procedure that he check on his youngest before and after patrol. Dick had snuck out of the manor a few times, so it was a habit born out of both concern and caution. It was only when he realized he was standing outside Dick's door, that Bruce realized he really did want to check that Dick was alright. The anger that had so blinded him before had finally ebbed. The physical act of doing something good with his life seemed to help. 

Dick shouldn't have be awake, but a conversation in the morning would need be forthcoming. Rationally, he was the last person to be chastising Dick about temper problems, when he'd literally spent the last 17 hours beating his anger out on exercise equipment and petty criminals. Bruce wasn't looking forward to it.

Then of course Bruce opened the door, and the bed was empty. Dick hadn't even tried to hide it either. Bruce turned on his heels, and walked back down to the cave. Their surveillance was all accessible from there, and he'd be able to see where Dick had gotten out, before going to track him down. 

He needn't have worried. As he switched through the various surveillance cameras in and around the premise, Dick was easy to spot. At approximately 9 o'clock pm, he'd planted himself in the foyer, with his back against the door. In that position, anyone entering or leaving the manor from the main entrance wouldn't have been able to avoid him. He'd spent most of the next two hours sniffling and upset, either paging through an old worn book Bruce didn't recognize, or holding it to his chest and staring out blankly in front of himself. Alfred occasionally came to try and coax him to bed, but Dick wouldn't go. 

Bruce was happy he hadn't bothered listening to the audio of the conversations, though he knew at some point he'd have to check them. At 11:17, Dick had fallen into a fitful sleep, but a few hours of fast forwarded viewing showed that the sleep had been anything but restful. Around midnight, Alfred had come to lay a blanket over the child, hesitated, then made a swift retreat. Dick woke several times in the night. 

Not really knowing how to feel about what he was watching, Bruce left the cave, and headed for the entryway. Dick was sleeping when Bruce walked in. He was curled up on the floor, his back still against the manor door, with the blanket wrapped around him. The overhead light was still on. Alfred was meticulous about turning off lights that weren't in use, the only reason Bruce could think of for it to still be on, would be upon Dick's request. 

He'd seen Dick look peaceful in sleep before, but this wasn't that at all. Even asleep he looked tired, and his cheeks were red and puffy. 

There was no way Bruce could have put words to the things raging in his chest, so he didn't. He couldn't change things that were already done, only strive to be better. Being mindful of the sleeping child in front of him, Bruce knelt down, and gently gathered Dick into his arms. 

“I'm sorry,” Dick muttered, still half asleep, but he burrowed into the warmth of Bruce's chest. 

“In the morning,” Bruce whispered, and took his youngest up to bed. 

-

A soft knock on his bedroom door woke Bruce several hours before he would have preferred it, but only one person in this house would have knocked. Alfred and Jason would have just snuck in on their own. With something that felt like resignation fluttering in his chest, Bruce moaned, hefted himself up into a sitting position, scowled at the door for a few seconds, and sighed. “Come in,” he said. Better to get it over with.

The door opened just a bit, and Dick poked his head in. He looked about as tired as Bruce felt, which was something, he supposed. Dick swallowed, and properly entered the room. Bruce noted he left the door open, as if he might need to escape if necessary. He wondered for a moment, if Dick saw the whole manor as something of a gilded cage, with locked doors and too much empty space to ever be a home. It was possible Bruce was already overthinking things, but he wasn't going to bet on it. 

Dick kept his eyes down, fixated on the plush carpet, and his shoulders were raised peaks. He opened his mouth once, snapped it closed, then looked at Bruce. Whatever had been on his lips died in an instant, his eyes wide and a look of horror came over his face. “What happened?” he asked softly, and Bruce could feel his eyes mapping the scars all over Bruce's chest, and the angry bruises on his ribs. 

“Sports,” Bruce said, because it was his go to answer in these situations. Though, most people who didn't know his secret, never saw him shirtless in decent enough light to make out all of his scars. 

“Sports?” Dick asked, in both concern and disbelief.

“Extreme sports,” Bruce clarified. 

“You aren't very good at them,” Dick said, but his attempt to lighten the situation fell flat. He didn't seem able to pull up the kind of cheer he usually did. He looked like he wanted to cry. 

“Come here,” Bruce said, soft and even. 

Dick swallowed, his lower lip trembling, but he did as Bruce asked, and crossed the room. He stood by the bed, looking at Bruce through his lashes, until Bruce patted the space beside him. Dick took the invitation, climbing onto the bed, but he kept a steady distance between them. Dick had obviously made a conscious decision not to touch him. It struck him that Dick already knew Bruce wasn't comfortable with the hugs and casual touch that he craved, and where as Bruce could recognize the effort he was putting forward to try and make Bruce feel comfortable, it didn't sit right with him. Dick shouldn't have been the one trying to make Bruce comfortable. 

Bruce extended one hand, palm up. Dick looked at it, then up at Bruce's face. He seemed to find whatever permission he was looking for, and gently put his hand in Bruce's. 

“I'm sorry,” Dick said, and there was no way Bruce could have denied how heartfelt it was. “I don't hate you. I was scared-” he looked up at Bruce's scars again, his eyes distant, and looking much older than they had any right to. “I'm still scared. If you didn't come back, I don't know what I'd do.” 

Tentatively, Dick leaned over, resting his head on Bruce's shoulder.

There were no words, nothing Bruce could say that would make this easier, especially with the life he lived. If he was a better man, he would have done what Jason suggested, and gotten Dick a real family, with parents that had ordinary jobs. But he wasn't a better man, and with Dick warm at his side, Bruce knew he never wanted to let this kid go. Robin or not, it didn't matter. It never should have.

There were problems, but they'd work on it together. 

“I know a nice ice cream place in town,” Bruce said. 

Dick looked up at him through heavy lashes, not moving from his side. “Ice cream for breakfast?” Dick asked, more curious than anything.

“Only if you don't tell Alfred.” 

The smile that worked itself onto Dick's face was small, hesitant. He shook his head. “We should bring him some too. And a new fruit bowl. And fruit.” 

Bruce nodded. “We'll think of something.”


End file.
